


here is the church and here is the steeple (we sure are cute for two ugly people)

by sternenrotz



Series: broken hearts hurt but they make us strong (queer horror verse) [12]
Category: The Horrors (Band)
Genre: 5 Times, Coming Out, F/M, First Dates, Future Fic, Love Confessions, Trans Female Character, Trans Male Character, Transphobia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-07
Updated: 2015-12-11
Packaged: 2018-04-30 09:37:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,595
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5158937
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sternenrotz/pseuds/sternenrotz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>five times Joe said "I love you" first, and the one time he didn't.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> titled after "anyone else but you" by the Moldy Peaches.
> 
> as usual: Joe is a trans boy, Rhys is a trans girl and her chosen name is Dilys, Josh's gender is complicated, Tom is the token cisgender friend, Faris doesn't really show up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> set in early 2004.
> 
> Joe is technically underage at this point, but only in countries where the age of consent is 18 or older, and even then, only by a few days.

Dilys tells the waitress who takes their order that it's his eighteenth, and Joe gets a free cocktail out of it, even if it's not his actual birthday for another four days.

Still, he thanks the server when his drink arrives, and that's maybe because she calls him “sir” like it's the most natural thing in the world, although he wouldn't admit to it. He still feels his cheeks heat up with it, though.

“ Hey,” Dilys says. “You're glowing.”

She laughs, a gentle, tiny laugh. Joe doesn't know what to do in response other than to laugh along. He lifts the cocktail glass to his nose, one of the fancy ones with little green bits of leaf floating around inside the drink, and sniffs, and he pulls a face before he can help it.

Dilys giggles.

“This ' s pretty strong.”

“ Too strong for you?”

Joe shakes his head and sets the glass back down onto the table. “Gonna save it for later.”

They're at this sushi place near the seafront that Dilys said was pretty good, dark walls and bright white lights, sat in a booth near the back. Joe let Dilys do the ordering, too, since he really doesn't know anything about the finer points of sushi. When the waitress brings their selection of rolls, he's… Well, it's not nervousness, and it's not anticipation, but something close enough to that.

“ Thank you.”

Dilys orders herself a cocktail to go along with Joe's. Once the server has disappeared from their table again, she breaks her chopsticks apart. That's one reason for Joe to be nervous already.

“Lys?” he asks. Even with the quiet music from the speakers and no one sat in their immediate vicinity, Joe still makes a point of keeping his voice low when he leans in. “If I asked them if I can have a knife and fork, would that be, like, really embarrassing?”

Dilys laughs at him again, but in a way that's less malicious and more fond. “Yeah, it would be.”

Joe watches her pick up a sushi roll between her chopsticks without even _looking_ at it, and that just makes him feel that bit inadequate.

But she says, “you know it's perfectly acceptable to eat it with your fingers, though.”

“Okay.”

His face breaks out into the stupidest relieved grin before Joe can stop it, and he reaches for one roll on the tray. The sheet of seaweed covering it feels foreign and papery, of course it does, but it's really not a bad _foreign_ . Just the kind of foreign he was nervous-and-anticipating about.

“Gentle, don't squish it.”

Joe is gentle.

Dilys dips her roll into the dish of soy sauce, extra carefully. She says, “try to only dip the fish part, not the rice part.”

“Okay.”

“ 'cause it makes it all soggy.”

Joe likes this, being guided just slightly. He especially likes how gentle Dilys' voice gets when she talks to him.

“And you eat it all in one bite.”

“Okay.”

So Joe does, he watches Dilys chew hers slowly and does the same himself, focussing on the raw, sweet flavour of the fish in his mouth.

Then the server brings Dilys' drink, and Dilys beams her brightest smile and thanks her.

“Come on.”

Dilys raises her glass and motions for Joe to do the same so they can clink the rims together. “This is to you,” she says.

Joe doesn't know how to feel about that. “To us, you mean.”

“If you say so.” She smiles across the table, and they both sip their drinks.

Joe has to pretend he doesn't nearly choke on his.

“Happy not-your-birthday-yet.”

Dilys leans in to peck him on the lips, quick and light and easy, and Joe doesn't care if anyone sees at all.

–

Later, when their tray is empty and the cocktails are drank, when Dilys has paid their bill, they're walking up the street towards the nearest bus stop. It’s quiet. Joe feels Dilys' hand in his, obvious how much thinner and frailer it is even through the layers of both their gloves. Maybe he should say something.

“Thanks for this. Again.”

“I told you, it's nothing.” Dilys laughs inside her own mouth, and still, she tightens her grip on Joe's hand a bit.

“But if I'm honest we don't really need to do this again.” He just as soon realises how that sounds, so Joe adds, “Like, it wasn't bad, it was really nice. But I don't think I need to eat raw fish more than once in my life.”

“Yeah, sorry about that.” Dilys keeps on laughing to herself, and she says, “It's an acquired taste thing, I guess. We can go get burgers right now, if you want. If that makes it any better.”

“No, no, it's good.” Joe can't help but let that smile rip across his face again. “I'm full as it is, so, you know.”

“If you say so.”

Dilys moves in close enough that her upper arm rubs into Joe's, like she's trying to meld herself into him.

“No, I mean it.” Joe laughs. “It's cool.”

“Okay.”

She leans her head against Joe's shoulder now, awkward since she's a bit taller than him to begin with. Her little heeled boots add another two inches or so, but Joe really doesn't want to change anything about this. Tonight's one of those mild winter nights when the air is only so crisp to burn a tiny bit on his face. The stars are out, and Joe's pretty sure he could see all the way to France or Belgium or whatever if he used those binoculars they've got on the promenade. He gets an idea.

“You know what we should do?”

“What?”

“We should go to the beach.”

Just like that, they're both hurtling up the street, maybe faster than what would've been necessary, but definitely so fast that Joe almost trips over his own legs. Dilys laughs that witchy, shrieking laugh she's got, and it blares back off the walls of the buildings. What can Joe do other than laugh along.

“Wait, wait, come here,” Dilys says.

She stops just when Joe's about to stumble down the stairs that separate the promenade from the actual shingle beach. Joe almost stumbles again, of course, but Dilys grabs his other hand and keeps him steady. They smile at the exact same moment. Joe knows what's coming next, of course he does.

Still, Dilys says, “Come here,” again.

She winds one arm around Joe's waist, and the kiss is different this time. Dilys' other hand is gentle on his cheek and his hands land on her shoulders, for lack of anywhere else to put them, open-mouthed and still tender. Joe can feel her breathing, and sure, he registers all the ways in which this is _different_ , but it's not different enough for him to think of it as in any way _weird_.

“Beach?” Dilys asks when they pull apart, almost too innocent-sounding.

“Yeah, beach.”

–

“This is so pretty,” Dilys says after it's been quiet for a long while.

Her hand is curled firmly into Joe's, warm inside her velvety glove, and it _is_. The beach's a long empty stretch in front of them, even longer than the stretch they've already walked. In the distance, the neon lights and street lamps are lit up a Christmas tree, or maybe like a brighter, flashier version of the stars spangling the sky above them. There's so much of it, and even more reflect ed in the calm of the North Sea. Joe feels all too small, but not really in a bad way.

“Like I'm in a movie or something.”

“Is it a good movie?” Joe asks and laughs.

“Yeah, it is.” She squeezes his hand and laughs back at him.

“It feels like we're the only people in the world or something,” Joe says.

He leans into Dilys' side and isn't sure if he really meant to, but she's warm and sturdy and the fabric of her coat is soft. Maybe he should say something else.

“So my dad called and he said he wants to invite me to celebrate my birthday next week. With dinner at a fancy restaurant and all.”

“And?” _And_ , she asks in the most innocent way possible. She obviously doesn't understand.

Joe can't really be mad at her for it. “So I'm not sure what I'm meant to do about it.”

Dilys says, “Oh,” a quiet, reassuring _O_ _h_.

Joe squeezes her hand a bit tighter without really meaning to. “'cause obviously he's going to expect me to show up with a dress and makeup on and being, like, the young woman his daughter has grown into. The kind of stuff dads say.”

His stomach churns, and he wonders if Dilys can tell it. The next second, Joe feels awful for putting it like that, and he’s not sure if he’s got a real reason for that.

Dilys just says, “Yeah, I know.”

She smiles when Joe looks, that weird fragile-looking smile she's got when it doesn't _quite_ reach her eyes.  Joe still isn't sure if he wants to keep talking. He does, anyway. “Like, the other alternative is to wear a suit and tell him about it, and I don't know if I want to do that.”

Dilys shrugs. “Do you think it could be any worse than when you told your mum?”

“I don't know.” Joe shrugs as well and leans a little ways into Dilys' side, just to have the weight and warmth of her there. “I mean, that's still a pretty big spectrum.”

“Yeah.”

“And I barely ever see him either way, so it's like…” Joe wants to fidget but doesn't really have anything to fidget with.

Dilys makes a vague noise of understanding.

“I'm not sure if there's even a point in telling him.”

“You know you're gonna have to… At some point. 'cause it'd be a bit weird if you've got a beard and a flat chest one day and he still thinks you're a girl.”

She laughs. Joe laughs along, although the actual scenario she's describing seems more terrifying than funny.

“Yeah, I know, but… not right now. I'd probably just make stuff weird unnecessarily.”

Dilys makes a noise. For a few seconds, it's quiet. “You don't think you could do, like, a halfway thing?”

“What d'you mean?”

“Like you just wear a suit but don't come out to him. So you're just a girl wearing a suit.” Dilys squeezes his hand once again, and she rubs over the soft bit between his pointer finger and thumb. “Like, that's obviously better than the alternative.”

“Yeah,” Joe says. He wrinkles his brow and rolls the thought over in his brain, and he adds, “I think that's just going to make it weirder.”

“Why's that?”

“'cause you know, he probably still thinks I'm a lesbian, so if I do come out to him sometime later on he's just going to be the same way that my mum was. Saying I'm just confused.”

“Oh,” Dilys says. That's all she's got to say, probably.

Joe can't exactly blame her for it. “Yeah.”

Then they're both quiet, the whole world is save for their steps against the slippery shingles and the ever-present rush of the sea. Joe looks down at his scuffed All Stars and Dilys' dainty chelseas, at her skinny legs and woollen tights and his own jeans. He stops to pick up a flat, biggish pebble.

“What're you doing?”

“I don't know.”

Joe turns so he's looking out across the sea and lets the stone skip over the water, to Belgium or France or wherever. It doesn't really get that far. Dilys laughs at him again.

“Like you could do any better,” Joe says, mock defensive.

“Aww,” Dilys goes. “You're hurting my _feelings_ .”

“You don't have any of those,” Joe points out.

He doesn't hesitate before he leans up to kiss her on the lips again. This time, it doesn’t last long, but that's mostly because they both erupt into fits of laughter way too soon.

–

“I'm sorry, you know,” Dilys says when they're on the bus back to her flat and it's been quiet for a bit again.

They're on the top deck, at the very front so they can kick up their feet by the window and watch the view zip past. Not much of a view, admittedly, but it's a long way and Joe can lay his head onto Dilys' shoulder and turn his thoughts off. The smell of her perfume clings to her clothes and hair and to the inside of his nose, too. She smells like luxury and roses and silk.

“You smell really good,” Joe says, because it's the first thought in his mind more than anything else.

“What?”

“You always smell good, though. Sorry.” Then, he asks what he actually wanted to ask, “What do you mean?”

“Thanks,” Dilys says.

Their linked hands rest where their thighs are touching, and she presses them both down a bit deeper.

“I mean I'm sorry that it's like this for you.”

“For having shitty parents, you mean?”

“I guess.”

“You don't have to be sorry for that.”

“Yeah, still. I'm just saying that it shouldn't be like that, you know.”

“Yeah.” Joe shrugs and settles in deeper against Dilys' side. He only smokes at parties, but he's really craving a fag right now. “I'm pretty sure most parents aren't like yours, though.”

“Obviously not.” Dilys does the opposite-motion to what Joe's doing and yields so their bony parts aren't pressed together too closely. “But they should be.”

Joe makes a non-committal noise. “It doesn't matter, I guess. I'm moving out for uni either way and then I won't have to see any of them more than twice a year except my sister.”

“At least you've got your sister on your side.”

“Yeah. And you're graduating this year, so we could just move in together.”

It only sounds ridiculous and too forward after Joe's said it out loud, but Dilys doesn't seem to mind at all. She just laughs quietly inside her mouth, and she shifts so she can rest her head on top of Joe's.

“Yeah, I mean I was gonna have to find a new flatmate either way.”

Then they're both laughing, and it's easy, so easy, except then something outside catches Dilys' attention.

“Shit, shit,” Dilys exclaims, and she jams the _stop_ button.

Next thing, the bus comes to a stop, and they hurtle down the stairs to get off.

–

“Here you go,” Dilys says and hands Joe one of her paisley-patterned mugs. “Careful, it's hot.”

“Obviously.”

Joe closes both his hands around the cup and lets the steam billow up into his face. Dilys arranges her legs Indian-style on the bedspread so they're sitting across from each other with their legs in a rhombus shape, and she straightens out her skirt.

“D'you want me to put on music?” she asks when she's blown the steam away from her own cup.

“No, I mean… it's nice like this, too.”

Dilys has a small room inside of her small flat. There’s just enough space in it for the bed and a drawer full of clothes, record player on top, and a hanging rack for her dresses, but with the big light turned off and the fairy lights on it turns into a cosy little cave.

“Okay.” Dilys giggles and smiles at him across the rim of her mug.

She looks softer in the dim light, purple with how it reflects off the walls, her cheekbones less sharp and her fingers less skinny, and her skin is purplish, too, makes her look like some ethereal girl-alien with a silky smooth fringe and long eyelashes.

“D'you want to sleep on the couch or in my bed tonight?”

“I'd rather your bed,” Joe says. “Seems more comfortable.” He strokes the sheets underneath himself to prove the point.

“Good choice.” Dilys grins and sips her tea carefully. “Definitely warmer, too.”

–

“Do you want to cuddle?”

Dilys hums a soft sound of affirmation. “Do you like being big spoon or little spoon?”

“I don't… don't really like spooning, to be honest. Can we just…?”

“Yeah, we can.”

The fairy lights still glow in the dark when Dilys adjusts the duvet over the both of them. Joe fits himself right against her side, her body made of a lot of smooth, smooth skin. Her belly is softer than Joe would've expected it on someone that skinny, and she’s only in pyjama bottoms and her dressing gown and a soft bra. Even through the layer of Joe's big sleep shirt, she's incredibly warm, with the smell of her perfume still clinging to the curve of her neck. It's the same smell that sticks to her bedclothes and to her room, those roses and the cherry cinnamon shampoo she uses, grapefruit shower gel, sugary tea, sweat and girl. Joe feels a bit overwhelmed at the same time that he wants to inhale as much of it as he can.

“I've a question.”

“Go ahead.”

“Why are you wearing a bra to bed?” Right after he said it, Joe feels like maybe that question was a bit _rude_ , so he adds, “If you don't mind me asking.”

“I don't know,” Dilys slurs out. Her voice is so soft, as if to remind Joe that he didn't say anything wrong. “It's just weird, I feel. Having my chest right there and all flat.”

Joe can feel the soft fabric of his t-shirt against his own chest right then,and he wonders if Dilys can feel that part of him too where their bodies touch. “Fair enough.”

He wraps his arm more tightly around her middle to meld himself into her body, and Dilys strokes his shoulder with the arm she's got around him. It's quiet for a long minute, but not quiet enough for her breathing to have gotten so regular that she's fallen asleep.

“I said this before, but thanks for this.”

“I told you, it's nothing.”

“I know,” Joe says. He feels stupidly mushy in a literal sense, like the warmth that's in his belly is softening his insides up. “But seriously. This is the nicest birthday I've had since, like… a long time.”

“I'm glad,” Dilys says back. “Hope you know this means you're going to pay me back when it's my birthday next month.”

She laughs, and Joe laughs, too. They kiss it out of each other's mouths, and it's easy.

–

“What're we doing?”

Dilys is out of her dressing gown and Joe has his shirt rucked up to just below where his actual chest starts. One hand is on _her_ chest, one thumb in the waistband of her pyjama bottoms above her bum.

“D'you want to stop?”

“Not really,” Joe says.

Pressed together like this, he can really feel her, especially one particular part of her against his thigh. His hand slips all the way into her waistband, and it's so easy. Her skin is so soft.

“Just saying, if you're gonna put it in my, you know…” Joe falters to find a word that doesn't feel disgusting in his mouth or in his guts. “Down there. I'm probably going to freak out. So, you know, if you want to, you can…”

Dilys cuts him off. “Joe, shush. It's okay.”

“What?”

“I don't like using that part of me either, so… It's okay.”

She kisses him again, soft and reassuring. Joe lets his eyes drop shut and his legs drop open. That heat in his belly has wandered down to there, too. He's not hesitant at all when Dilys cups him through the fabric of his pants.

“Okay?”

“Yeah,” Joe says. “Okay.”

–

It's quiet afterwards, when Dilys cleaned the sweat and stickiness off them both with wet wipes. Still, with the heat of both their bodies radiating off each other under the covers, Joe feels like he's sweating again. He's swollen, bursting with feelings, maybe even warmer on the inside than he is on the outside. He can feel Dilys' breathing where he's curled into her side again, still a little too fast so they're breathing in sync, and he wonders if her heart's still beating a little too fast, too.

“Joe?”

“Yeah?”

“Everything alright?”

“Yeah,” Joe says once again. “Yeah, of course I'm alright.”

“Was just wondering, 'cause you're crying.”

“I'm not crying,” Joe says back. He definitely doesn't sniffle when he says it, either.

Really, he isn't. He's just got some moisture in his eyes. Sweat. That's definitely it.

“Yeah,” Dilys says. “Yeah, you are.”

The fairy lights still burn even now, and Dilys looks different _again_. She’s even softer somehow, even with her make up smudged and her hair tousled, and … Wait a second.

“Am not .”

There's… yeah, there's definitely _something_ glimmering in the corners of her eyes.

“But you are.”

“Sorry.” Dilys laughs, the most genuine short smile-laugh with tears in her eyes, and she reaches for a tissue from the bedside table. “It's just… I'm happy, but you're a bit contagious.”

“I said I'm not bloody crying,” Joe insists, but he doesn't sniffle again. “Give me a tissue, too.”

Joe blows his nose and wipes the sweat out of his eyes. It's most definitely sweat.

“Okay,” Dilys says, sing-song in her voice. “You're a big strong manly man and you're not crying right now.”

Joe decides to ignore the obvious sarcasm and says, “You're right, I'm not.”

Then, he blows his nose again.

“Must be something going around,” Dilys says. A smirk splits open her face now, showing off a lot of teeth and some vague aura of _I'm better than you_ , not condescending, just hyper-confident. “Some virus.”

Joe immediately decides he's in love with it. “I love it.”

“Your virus you've got?” Dilys asks.

“Not the virus.” Joe giggles, and only feels a little insecure when it comes out a tad too high-pitched. “It. This.”

She cracks out a laugh, but her face doesn't truly break from that expression.

Joe says, “Your face.”

“Thank you.”

This time Dilys' face changes so it's a smaller, softer version of that smirk. A smile, almost, but still a bit too confident to be _just_ a smile. Joe wants to crawl back into the crook of her neck and make himself a home there , although that would mean he can't look right at her any more. Instead, he just winds his arm tighter around her waist where it dips in a bit.

He says, “It's a good face.”

“Me?”

“What?”

“You were saying,” Dilys says. “Listing things you love, right now.”

She smirks some more, like she knows exactly how boiling-hot Joe's insides are and how fast his heart is beating, and like she's completely above that kind of thing.

“You're so conceited .”

“But I'm not wrong . Right?”

“There's nothing about you that's wrong,” Joe says. That's a good non-answer, he thinks.

“Hm?”

Joe's not sure when he gravitated close enough to her that she can simply nod her head and headbutt him as she makes the sound. But he really doesn't mind, even if it hurts a tiny bit. He laughs out loud, much louder than he meant to, amplified by the quiet tiny bedroom.

“I love you, you conceited girl.”

Then he leans in to actually kiss her in the curve of her neck, in the spot where he already found out she's ticklish. Dilys squeaks and shrieks and flails, before she strikes back and tickles Joe right under his arms.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> set in 2007.
> 
> content warning for the aftermath of a transphobic assault, some victim blaming and transmisogynistic terms (used by a trans woman). tread carefully.

America's not really that special. The record shops are nice, but the accents are annoying, and Joe doesn't think most of the cities are something he needs to see more than once. Faris is obsessed with the cities, with searching out oddities and antiquities and strange shops half-hidden away in side streets, which, frankly, isn't something Joe really _gets_. Tom likes the sights, anything he can point his camera at and say, “look at this”. Joe doesn't get that either, because he's seen more than enough sunsets in his life. While seeing the Statue of Liberty and the Golden Gate Bridge in real life for the first time was pretty cool, he doesn't understand the need to take twenty-five pictures of every sight they come across.

Josh loves the food, especially the heart-attack-inducing deep-fried food that's the reason for the _Americans are fat_ stereotype. Which Joe thinks is just stupid. T hat's what he said, too, when they were at a fast food joint in Georgia and Josh ordered deep-fried cheesecake for dessert.

“You know, if you wanted to eat deep-fried foods that were never meant to be deep-fried, we could have just gone to Scotland.”

To which Josh said, “Shut up,” and took a big bite. A big drop of frying grease dripped down and landed on his cleavage, which solidified Joe's opinion that nature never intended for some things to be deep fried. Josh barely even flinched and said something to the effect of, “Nature's napkins.”

Which solidified Joe's opinion that _Josh_ was also one of those things that were never intended by nature.

Dilys, well… Dilys really loves the clubs. The tiny underground clubs frequented by hipsters that played only vinyl and were essentially overseas Junk Clubs, Joe was okay with those. Except at some point Dilys and Josh both decided what they were looking for was the gay clubs, the big mixed-audience ones where go-go boys dance on speakers that blast electronic music.

Joe hates gay clubs.

Well, no, that's not exactly accurate either. He appreciates loud music and fruity cocktails and nearly-nude boys as much as any other guy does, and he's hypothetically not opposed to ripping his shirt off and climbing up onto the bar. But he doesn't have Dilys’ extroverted personality or Josh’s attitude, and the type of guy he's attracted tends to lose interest once Joe discloses the whole _trans_ thing. So a fter about two nights he decides that the clubs aren't for him, either.

Tonight's the last night of tour, and they're somewhere in Texas. They played the last gig and they're flying back to London sometime tomorrow morning, and now Joe's huddled together with Tom and Faris in his and Dilys' shared hotel room. It's already late, two or maybe three in the morning. With the combination of the adrenaline wearing off and the buzz he still has, Joe can't help but keep nodding off on someone's shoulder. They're watching some movie on Faris' MacBook, all in their underwear or trackie bottoms. It's so much like the movie nights they have back home that Joe almost feels a little homesick because it's not _actually_ home.

Except, then…

Except then the door clicks open and Dilys comes in, except as soon as Tom has said, “Hey, Lys,” the bathroom door slams shut. There's a scream, a long, frustrated scream that gets Joe from slightly-awake to completely-awake.

“Jesus fuck,” Tom says under his breath.

Faris straightens up in shock.

The scream subsides, but as soon as it does, it's replaced with the faint sound of sobbing coming from the bathroom. Joe's gut grows heavy when the situation finally dawns on him.

“You should go check up on her,” Faris says, as if that wouldn't have been Joe's immediate course of action either way.

Tom says, “She's your girlfriend after all,” in some stupid scumbag tone of voice. Tom has always been kind of a scumbag.

Joe's still hesitant when he knocks on the bathroom door, though. “Lys?”

“Leave me alone,” comes the reply almost immediately.

“Lys,” Joe says again, “Come on. Let me in.”

He tries the doorknob, even when he knows that the bathroom can be locked from the inside, but he succeeds. Before he can get a look at Dilys' face in, though, she's already kicked the door shut again.

“Go away,” she says, voice trembling with the tears in it.

“Lys,” Joe says for the third time. “Please. Let me come in?”

The lock of the bathroom door clicks closed.

Joe can't hold back the sigh of exasperation that slips out. “Lys.”

“Leave me alone,” Dilys insists again, but she doesn't sound like she truly _means_ it.

“Lys. Can you unlock the door, please?”

There's two seconds or so of hesitation, but then the lock snicks open again. Joe hesitates too when he grips the doorknob again. As if it's going to explode in his hand when he touches it, or as if Dilys might change her mind.

“I just want to know what happened.”

Dilys is sitting on the floor in front of the sink when Joe steps in. The bathroom is so small that she has to shift for him to open the door properly. She’s got a ladder in her tights, and it's maybe weird that Joe notices that before her eyeliner and mascara running down her cheeks as black gunk. Joe feels awful for being so insistent about being let in and even more awful over whatever put her in this state in the first place.

“Okay?” he asks when he sits down on the toilet seat, even when it's obviously _not_ okay.

Dilys just gives him that one look, as if he just insulted her in the most terrible way, the one he's only ever seen her direct at other people. Snot bubbles out of her nose, and when she sniffs it makes an extremely undignified snorting noise.

“Here,” Joe says, because he knows he _should_ but he doesn't have any idea on how to comfort her. “Have a tissue.”

He reaches out with a wad of toilet paper balled up in his hand.

“Thanks,” Dilys says. She wipes her face, first the snot, then the runny makeup. Her eyes are still swimming with tears, even if she sounds like she's trying to find composure. “I'm sorry for this,” she says, then, muffled as she blows her nose.

Joe wraps his arms tighter around his own middle and pretends he isn't shaking. The bathroom floor is cold underneath his bare feet, and the clingy stink of other people's sweat and cologne and booze crawls up into his nose. His stomach turns.

“You don't have to be,” he says, finally.

“I'm disgusting,” Dilys says back. “Give me another tissue.”

Joe does, and he watches as she wipes at what's left of the black around her eyes. Dilys sniffles, and Joe's got absolutely no idea what to do. He takes the two still-wrapped disposable plastic cups that came with the hotel room and fills both up with water, and he reaches one out towards Dilys.

“D'you want…?”

“Cheers.”

She sips the water and Joe does the same, even if his throat is too dry and choked up too tightly for some inexplicable reason. They sit in silence for Joe-doesn't-know-how-long, and eventually Dilys pulls herself up off the floor.

“I'm so gross,” she says at her reflection in the mirror. “I need to shower.”

She tugs open the buttons of her blouse, and Joe isn't sure what she plans to do. He still feels he should stop her before she's stripped completely naked.

“Lys,” he says, once again. He hates himself for being repetitive and useless in situations like this. “Do you want to say what happened to you?”

Dilys sniffs again, and she lets her blouse sag open around her chest. She just stands there, quietly glaring at her own reflection, and her shoulders still shake a bit. For a split second, Joe thinks she's not going to answer at _all_.

Finally, she says, “We got attacked when we left the club.”

Out of reflex, Joe says, “What?”

But Dilys just keeps talking before the word is even all the way out of his mouth. “We called a taxi to pick us up, but we had to walk a little ways down the road. The driver said it was 'cause the club was in a cul-de-sac, and he wouldn't have been able to turn the car around. So that's when it happened.”

“Did they…?” Joe starts. He doesn't want to finish the sentence.

“There was five of them. We managed to fight them off.” Dilys shakes, and again, it doesn't seem like she's actually responding to Joe's question. “Only 'cause I had a can of mace in my purse and I'm pretty sure it was stuck so it wouldn't have gone off, but it was enough so we could run to where the car was parked.”

Joe doesn't know what to say. As usual.

“And I fell down, so that's how I hurt my knee.”

Sure enough, when Joe casts a quick glance downwards, there's blood crusting and staining her tights where the ladder starts.

“But it doesn't matter. We got away and we didn't seriously get hurt, so it doesn't matter.” She spits the words into the room, down into the sink the way you'd spit blood, and it _does_ matter, obviously.

“Lys,” Joe says. For the too-many-eth time. “Lys, love.”

“Don't _love_ me,” Dilys snaps. She sniffs and it ruins the effect. “You sound like my bloody mum.”

Joe exhales. There's one question he wants to ask, but he's not sure if it really _should_ be asked, or how to word it, for that matter. “Was this...”

“No, it bloody wasn't my _first time ever getting harassed in the street_ , Jesus fucking Christ,” Dilys snaps, that's once again the only way to describe it.

Joe flinches and immediately feels he deserves that for asking such a stupid invasive question in the first place. “Sorry.”

Dilys balls her fists, tighter than before, so tight Joe can see the skin of her knuckles go white. There's so much tension in her body that Joe can plainly _see_ , and he thinks of a thundercloud, or maybe a bomb that's about to explode. “It was Josh's fault, okay?”

For once, Joe feels like it's perfectly okay for him to not know what to say. He only curls tighter into himself on the toilet seat and sips his cup again.

“I only got attacked 'cause I was with him. 'cause you know I pass, right? I pass but then you look at Josh with his deep fake man voice and man _mannerisms_ and his stupid big dick he's packing, and his stupid big fucking _tits_ all out, and when people see that they're going to see a chick with a dick with ridiculous implants, and they're going to look at me and see a chick with a dick, too.”

She takes a deep, deep exhale when she's finished, and Joe automatically does the same. Dilys turns on the tap and lets the cold water run over her hands, before she splashes her face with it.

When she's finished, Joe has finally found the words to respond to her.

“Lys,” he starts, out of habit rather than anything else. “Lys, that's… That's an incredibly vile thing to say.”

“You're acting like I don't know that?” Dilys shoots back. “You're acting like I didn't ask him if he was okay five times over and send him to bed with a hug and a kiss 'cause he said he wanted to go sleep straight away, and like I'd _ever_ tell him that to his face.”

Then, like changing gears,Dilys' whole body sags. The tension is gone, and she stops shaking, except for her voice.

“But I know I'm right. I know they only went for it 'cause they saw Josh, 'cause men think if you've got a huge rack you're asking for it, and if you've got a huge rack and you’ve got a dick you're asking to have your face punched in.”

She sniffs once more, and a few lonely tears quell from her eyes. Like that, she seems so vulnerable and small that Joe can't help but want to hold her. He approaches her carefully, still, like you would with an injured animal or maybe a dangerous one, but she doesn't shrink away or try to shove him off.

“Can I?”

Dilys nods, and she makes a tiny noise. Joe takes that as the okay to step in close and wrap his arms around her waist.

“I'm sorry I'm being such a bitch,” Dilys says, and she sniffs. “But I know it's Josh's fault, and I know he's probably already asleep 'cause this stuff didn't bother him 'cause nothing ever bothers him 'cause he doesn't care.”

Joe can feel how she shakes as she speaks, how her middle vibrates where he's laid his hands.

“I'm sorry,” he says, for lack of anything better to say. He doesn’t want to argue right now. “D'you… Do you have anything specific you need to make you feel better?”

“I need a shower,” Dilys says again.

“Okay.”

Joe presses his mouth against the junction of her neck and shoulder, not quite kissing it, just resting his mouth there. He looks at Dilys' swollen eyes in the mirror, his own red with sleepiness. He really needs to find a way to show her that he cares much more than that.

“I'm going to make us tea,” he says, in the same tone of voice he would _I love you_. Jo e hopes that's what Dilys hears as well.

“Okay.”

He kisses her cheek before he steps out, where Tom and Faris are still sitting on the bed.

“And?” Tom asks.

Joe shrugs.

“She's going to be okay, I guess. Just needs some time and a shower.” He's really not about to tell those two in great detail what Dilys said to him.

“That's good,” Faris says. It's obvious even he isn't buying it, though.

“You guys should leave. I think she just wants some peace and quiet now.”

–

Joe puts the kettle on once they said goodnight, when he told Tom to check on Josh just in case. Just in time so the tea will be done steeping when Dilys is ready after her shower. Technically they don't have electric kettles in the American hotel rooms, another reason why Joe thinks this country is vastly inferior, but Josh insisted on bringing his own along. Right now, it's still plugged in in Joe and Dilys' room from earlier so Joe can brew them two cups.

He sits on his side of the bed with the warm mug in his hands, waiting for it to steep, still with a huge knot in his insides even now. When Dilys steps out of the bathroom, she looks like a ghost with her wet black hair and her white towel and her pale skin, paler than normally, especially under the dim bedside lights. Joe can't exactly blame her for it. He looks away while she changes into her pyjamas, and when she's done and climbing up onto the bed, the tea's ready, too.

“Your cup's on the bedside,” Joe points out.

“Cheers.”

They switch on the TV and Dilys finds a channel that shows music videos, and they don't talk about what happened any more. It doesn't matter, Joe supposes.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> set in summer 2008.
> 
> minor content warning for details of post-surgery recovery.

Dilys got her wisdom teeth out when she was twenty-four, and if she can help it, she's never going to have another surgery in her life. Not even that one. _Especially_ not that one. She's read enough horror stories from other girls, being bedridden with a catheter and dilating and all those other unpleasantries. Generally, she feels the cons of it outweigh the pros. So when Joe's off to get chest surgery, she's one part happy for him and one part not looking forward to the amount of care-taking she'll have to do for the next few weeks.

Joe is discharged pretty much as soon as he wakes up after the surgery. By the time Dilys gets there to pick him up, he's somewhat dishevelled with drains and medical tape and other things stuck to his chest, and also, riding sky-high on a painkiller high.

“How you feeling?” Dilys asks when she's helping him out of his hospital gown.

Joe says, “Yes.”

Dilys laughs before she can stop herself from it. She took a taxi to the clinic and told the driver to wait twenty minutes for them to come back, because she already knew she couldn’t possibly expose Joe to public transport in the state he's in. Lest she accidentally leave him behind on the bus, like you would with an unobservant child or something like that. At that thought, she laughs some more.

“You're laughing,” Joe points out, very helpfully. His voice is too slurry for her to determine if he's trying to be accusing. “Don't look, it's gross,” he adds when Dilys is working the flimsy gown down his arms.

Dilys makes a point of not looking at his chest when she helps him back into his binder .

“ This is _soooo_ ,” Joe says. “So bad. That I have to wear this thing, still.”

“ Yeah.” Dilys shrugs and moves in to adjust the velcro straps on one side.

The shirt she brought for him is some gaudy charity shop find, rainbow striped with short sleeves, the only shirt Joe owns that seemed loose enough for him to easily contort himself into. Even Dilys herself thinks it's hideous. That's what she said when Joe first pulled it off the bargain rack, too, but he insisted on buying it, saying, _C_ _ome on, Lys, I can wear it_ _to P_ _ride_. Now, though, Dilys does up the buttons one by one, and Joe stares down at her hands and, by association, the pattern of the shirt.

He says, “Oh my God. I look like a gnome.”

“What?”

“Like a… like a fucking garden gnome.” He touches his shirt tails, the only parts he can safely reach, as if struck by sudden horror, and says, “This shirt is disgusting.”

Dilys can't help but laugh again.

“I can't go _out_ like this.”

“The taxi's parked just down the road from here. No one's going to see, you big baby.”

“Taxi,” Joe repeats.

Dilys really wonders about the nature of those painkillers. “Yeah, I came here by taxi. We're going back to the flat so I can fix you right up.”

Joe says, “Okay.”

“Okay,” Dilys says back and nods. “Come sit down on the bed, so I can get your shoes on?”

She has to roll up the legs of the trackie bottoms so she can properly pull his socks on, and Joe squeaks when she does. Apparently he's still ticklish even through his high, and Dilys laughs at him. She helps him into his shoes, an old pair of well-worn trainers, and into his jacket, even if it's a relatively warm day. They're good to go.

The drive back home passes without incident, because Joe's too busy staring out of the car window and marvelling at everything that zips past to really do or say much of anything. Dilys thanks the driver and leaves a heavy tip, and somehow she gets Joe up to the third floor of their building and into the bedroom, too.

“Feels good to be home?”

“Good,” Joe confirms. He's lying on his back with his arms by his side, naturally, and he pats what he can reach of the mattress and says, “So soft.”

He promptly passes out as soon as Dilys leaves the room to make them some tea, and he only wakes up once when it's time for his evening round of painkillers. Again the next morning, but Joe sleeps for most of that day, too, so Dilys makes him chicken noodle soup and spoon-feeds it to him in bed.

“You still buzzed?”

Joe hums. Of _course_ he is, equal parts high and exhausted. “Like a bee.”

“That means yes.”

Joe giggles, and Dilys scoops up another spoon’s worth of soup and noodles, the little star-shaped ones.

“Open up.”

Dilys eats a spoonful of soup herself after she pulled it back out from Joe's mouth.

She says, “I feel like I'm your mum.”

Joe says, “Gross.”

He’s built up enough tolerance to the meds after maybe a week. He went back to the clinic to get the drains removed since, and he managed to stay awake for long enough periods of time that Dilys could take him out for a walk around the neighbourhood once a day.

In that week she's also made him tons and tons of soup with vegetables, and noodles or toast or rice or homemade mash on the side. Healthy living recovery food. If Dilys never has to eat another spoonful of soup again it'll still be too soon. Outside is perversely hot for this time of year, so just holding the bowl of hot soup anywhere close to her face makes her sweat, even if hot food and drinks supposedly help with dealing with the heatwave. But then, it was Faris who told her that, and she's pretty sure Faris isn't human to begin with. Today it's tomato soup and cheese toasties. They're eating in bed once again, and Dilys stirs slow circles in her bowl instead of actually eating.

She says, “I think I never want to eat soup again in my life.”

Joe laughs at her. He's propped against the headboard with a pile of pillows behind his back, tray in his lap, and he dips the corner of his cheese toastie into the soup before he takes a bite.

“We can switch to salad or something tomorrow.”

“Yeah, but,” Dilys says and finally eats a spoonful of her own soup. It's a pretty good soup, if she ignores the deep hatred for soup as a concept that festers inside her. “Salad's _tedious_ , you know? You make soup once for lunch, and then you can eat it for dinner and breakfast the next morning and you just need to heat it up. But with salad it gets soggy and the meat gets cold and it's just _gross_.”

“Yeah,” Joe says. “Yeah, true, but it's like…” He pauses to slurp a spoonful of soup, still careful with how he moves his arms. “You shouldn't be forced to eat soup if you don't like it. I mean, you can just get some takeaway and have that, right, I don't mind.”

“No, that's…” Dilys shrugs and brings another spoonful up to her mouth. “That's just stupid.”

Well, she was meaning to go on a diet anyway. Although she's not sure if it can be considered a diet if she's also eating a massive cheese toastie with her soup.

Joe shrugs.

For a little while it's quiet, the pleasant, easy kind of silence only interrupted by the noise that comes with eating. Dilys fluffs up the pillows on her side of the bed so she can lean into Joe's side in the same position, even if he's in a bit of a state right now. He’s got the same messy hair and the same fuzz on his face as when he’s laid up with a cold, yes, but underneath all that he's got a distinct healthy glow. Maybe that alone means this is all worth it.

Eventually, when his bowl is empty, Joe says, “Thanks for this.”

Dilys turns her head to look at him.

“For taking care of me and that.”

“You know you don't have to _thank_ me for this stuff.” She brings her hand down to lay it on top of Joe's, not quite linking their fingers together. “It's just the right thing to do, you know.”

“Yeah, I know. Still.”

“It wasn't that bad, really.” Well, it wasn't.

Joe giggles. “Not even the spoon-feeding part.”

“Maybe that part, a little,” Dilys admits, and she giggles back. “But you actually know how to eat, so, you know… not the worst person to spoon-feed by far.”

“Well, you're good at caretaking.” Joe finally takes the hint and squeezes her hand in his.

Dilys is pretty sure she's never gotten that compliment before. She's not sure how to feel about it, but it's definitely not a bad feeling.

“Got some strong maternal instincts.”

She's definitely never heard _that_ compliment before. N ot counting that time she ended up taking care of the rest of them when they all got sick on tour, and Faris called her the mum of the band in a way that might have been mocking.

“Thanks. I guess.”

“You guess?”

“Not sure how to feel about the fact that you're comparing me to a mother, is all.” She laughs.

“'m just saying, you'd be a good mum. Someday.” Joe asks, “d'you want to have kids someday?”

“I don't know,” Dilys says. Well, she didn't think that question was going to come up for another ten years or so. At the very least not until she's in her thirties.

“ I really never thought about it.”

“Well, I mean, we biologically could,” Joe says. He squeezes Dilys' hand and says, “We could get a surrogate so I won't have to carry it myself, and all.”

“Probably,” Dilys says, “When I'm ready to have a kid. 'cause I don't think I'm gonna be ready for that until I'm thirty-five or so.”

Joe says, “Yeah. I don't think I'm ready for that any time soon either.” He nudges deeper into Dilys' side, head so close to her shoulder. Then he says, “But I want to, one day. I really really want to.”

His voice is so soft and small even in the quiet bedroom, and it's such a simple statement, but Dilys can tell from the tone that it carries so much more meaning than that. For a few seconds, she lets it sit in the room like that.

Then, she says, “I'll go do the washing-up.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> set in early 2009.

“Hello.

“I'm Spider Webb, and you probably know me 'cause I play keys in the Horrors. And I'm making this video 'cause I've got something to tell the world.

“When I was born, which was some years ago, actually, my parents named me Rhys, 'cause the doctors told them they had a beautiful baby boy. But I realised pretty soon that really wasn't the case. I came out as a gay man to my family when I was still a teenager, before I realised the truth was a little more complicated than that.

“I'm transgender. My name is Dilys Eileen Somerset Webb, and I'm a transgender woman.

“When I first started making music with the Horrors, I decided to hide who I truly am from the public. The thing is, I knew that the music scene we were in at that time could be horrible towards girls, and even more so for girls like me, so for the past few years I had to pretend to be a man for my own safety.

“But we're releasing a new album this year, and our music's changed and outgrown that scene, and I've grown up, too. We've made a music video for our first single, it's called _Sea within a Sea_ and we're hopefully releasing it a week from when this is posted, so I'm really excited for everyone to see and hear that, and I really hope...”

That's when Dilys presses the pause button. It's maybe her fifth time rewatching the video and every time she just finds something else about it that bothers her. She definitely could have worded some parts of that better, and her voice slips and cracks at some point, which she _hates_. They filmed the video in the studio, in the quote-nice-unquote corner of it with Faris' expensive video camera, but they didn't use a tripod so the visual shakes a couple of times.  She hates whoever convinced her to wear those awful fake nails, too, because her stubby real nails weren't womanly enough or something. Which is just _stupid_ , because there's already plenty of videos of her waving her short fingernails around on the internet and there's going to be more in the future. She can't even play bass with those plastic monsters on her fingers.

At least there's maybe two negative comments on the video, although she can't say for certain whether people are truly reacting well to it or because some label intern’s entire job is to delete any transphobic remarks. Still, Dilys feels that she could've made a better video, if she'd been more focussed on the strain of her voice, if she'd written down a better outline of what she was going to say. If if if if if. The same effect as listening back to your own music, maybe, picking out all the flaws after the fact, or looking at your own art, if Faris is to be believed. It's all the same and Dilys takes another sip of her tea.

“Lys?”

Dilys turns her head. Joe stands in the door frame, his own cup of tea in hand and a concerned look on his face. She does recall that the door of their flat clicked open and shut again, some fifteen minutes ago maybe. But she was too wrapped up in whatever she was doing at the time to truly register that Joe had come back from his cigarette run.

“Are you watching your video again?”

Dilys shrugs, and Joe walks in to perch himself on the corner of the bed next to where she's sitting. He’s careful not to tip over the teacup and saucer where they're balanced on the mattress.

“Hey.”

Dilys reaches for her cup out of reflex more than anything, even when the movement only shakes it the tiniest bit.

“Hey Kit.”

“Hey,” Joe says for the second time, maybe because he's waiting for her to say something. He leans in for a quick peck.

“Is it still raining?” Dilys asks. It’s a stupid question, she realises that even before she finishes asking it, considering that Joe isn't even slightly wet.

“It's stopped just before I went out of the house.” Joe raises his teacup to his mouth and lets the steam hit his face. Apparently, the tea's still too hot for him. “That’s why I said I was gonna go out for fags, remember?”

“Right.”

Joe laughs and leans in to put all his weight against her side, his head on her shoulder. It's kind of uncomfortable and also kind of comforting.

“You silly girl.”

“Yeah.”

Dilys tips her head over to the other side so she's got it kind of-sort of lying on top of Joe's. Which really isn't comfortable at all, but it's definitely comforting.

“I'm just kind of out of it right now.”

Joe makes a sceptical noise and audibly slurps his tea.

“Still too hot?”

Joe ignores the question and instead says, “You've got to stop watching that video.”

“Like you wouldn't do the same if it was yours,” Dilys says back. Not like he isn't completely right about it, though.

“Yeah, but.” Joe turns his head in some awkward gesture, so awkward Dilys isn't really sure what he's trying to do.

“Yeah, but you'll never have to make a video like that of your own,” she says to help him out with what he can’t get out.

She laughs and doesn't mean for it to come out _scornful_. A lthough deep down, she can't deny that's how she feels about the fact that Joe's not going to have to do _this_ , the whole _having_ to tell people so they'll see him for who he is, ever again in his life.

“That's not what I was going to say,” Joe points out. “But it's true.”

He sips his tea again, Dilys can hear it. With his free hand, he reaches out and pushes her laptop closed.

“You should relax.”

“I know I should,” Dilys says back. She looks down at what's left in her cup and downs it all in one sip.

“You're not being very receptive to my advice today,” Joe points out when he's fully settled back into his uncomfortable position again.

“'cause I didn't ask for it.” Well, she didn't. “And you're terrible at giving advice.”

“Rude.”

Joe says it with the U dragged out really long. By all means, it's annoying. It's irritating and bothersome and unnerving how childish he can be in the most inappropriate situations, but all Dilys can do at that moment is laugh at him. That’s the one thing that feels right, she feels.

“You sound like Faris when you say that.”

“What d'you mean?” Dilys asks.

“Like when he's doing his weird hatemate flirting thing with Josh,” Joe explains. “Where they insult each other but it's so obvious they're in love and about five minutes away from marrying each other.”

True. Gross, but true.

“Gross,” Dilys says. “They're both so weird.”

Well, they are.

“It's not gross, it's _love_ ,” Joe insists.

“ Y ou sound like Josh when you say that.”

“I'm pretty sure that's slander, you know.”

But he laughs, just quietly, and Dilys can't help but laugh along. Joe moves in so he can actually bring his face up to hers, and she gets the hint and turns around for a peck on the lips.

“Do you want to go outside?”

“What am I meant to want to do there?”

Joe makes a non-committal noise, which Dilys assumes is about the verbal equivalent of a shrug. “Smoke break.” He sips his tea and says, “Dinner, maybe. I'm not in the mood to cook.”

“We've still got leftovers, I think,” Dilys says back. She's being obtuse now, but only because she likes heckling Joe that gentle bit. “Orange chicken and some noodles, and then some.”

“ _Ew_ .”

Joe slides his hand over to where Dilys has hers folded in her lap, still around her empty cup, and he lays it on top of where her fingers intertwine.

“Come on, Lys. I want to take your mind off this thing.”

–

Outside is orange and purple with dusk, and the smell of after-rain sticks to the air. Dilys knows there's a name for it, even if she can't remember right now. She also knows that it's not the smell of the _rain_ but of everything else, except it's only made apparent by the moisture in the air.  When they're halfway down the road to the restaurant Joe picked out, some newly-opened artisan burger place, she lights a fag. The cherry's the same colour as the sun where it's glowing in the sky above the rooftops.

“So weird that it's still light out now,” she says, more to herself than to Joe.

“What?”

“Nothing,” Dilys says and takes a deep drag. “I’m just talking to myself.”

“Wait a second.”

They stop short on the pavement, and Joe pulls out his own fags and lights one as well. “Okay.”

When they walk on, Dilys moves her cigarette from her right hand to her left so she can link hands with him.

The thing about the smell of rain, she realises as she thinks about it, it’s a good metaphor for how she feels between the warmth in her belly and how warm Joe's hand feels around hers. It's not a _new_ feeling by any means, and still it seems all the more intense and strange in this moment.

“Thanks for doing this,” Dilys says. “For dragging me out of the house.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I really didn't want to have orange chicken for dinner again.”

She laughs, and Joe laughs along. He knows what she means, he must. His thumb pets over the soft part of her hand, and for a few seconds, it's quiet.

“It's going to be okay, Lys. Okay? I know it.”

Now she's sure he gets it, the way he says it like he wants to say so much more than  _it'll be okay_ .

“Yeah,” Dilys says. “I guess so.”

Well, it probably will be.

She leans in towards him, because she knows he likes the closeness and simultaneously hates how it accentuates that she's taller than he is. Maybe she wants to heckle him a little more, so maybe they really are a bit like Josh and Faris.

“Love you too,” she says to placate him, and maybe she ends up mumbling it. Which is an accident, definitely.

“What?”

“I'm hungry.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> set in summer 2013.

Joe doesn't really have a _plan_ .

He buys the ring online from a vintage jewellery seller and has the inside of it engraved with their initials and that first birthday date they now both consider their anniversary. That's what he wants, he knows, but it’s about as far as he's thought it through. The ring's been sitting in the back pocket of his wallet ever since, waiting for… well. Pretty much the same thing Joe's waiting for, which he guesses is the right _moment_ or something. Not like there haven't been any moments that could've been the right. That's definitely not it, but Joe doesn't want it to be a spur-of-the-moment engagement. He _most definitely_ doesn't want to propose to Dilys during  a sweaty late night moment in some hotel room or in Faris' bed, no matter how happy they may have felt at that point.

Yes, maybe he's been carrying that ring around for a year and a half and a bit now. He knows that Dilys deep-down loves grand romantic gestures, so far down that it only comes out when they're watching some movie she insisted on. Even then, that’s only when she's drunk enough to let herself cry sniffly tears and insist that when they're getting married, it'll be exactly like that.

“You hate floor length dresses. And doves in a box, that's… that's animal cruelty. And someone's gonna have to collect them all back into the box after, I think. And that's just stupid.”

So maybe they're both drunk during moments like this, and maybe neither of them understand how this whole white dove business works. Joe definitely doesn't understand it, at least.

At that point, he usually asks, “Almost exactly like that, then?”

“Yeah, almost.”

Considering she has no idea Joe's bought the ring, she's still talking about getting married like it's a definite _when_.  Joe really has no reason to be nervous about this whole ordeal, but he's waiting for the right moment, alright.

They’re out on the town with the girls one night when they’ve got a week off between summer festivals. Dilys picks out a sparsely-lit pub that stays open until one at the weekends, and they occupy a booth towards the back. The walls are painted a sickly green colour, and there's scented candles on every table that burn in Joe’s nose, but the cocktails are good and the G&Ts relatively cheap, so it's a good enough time. Also, Dilys won't stop bubbling on about something or other, so it's a _really_ good time.

Even after almost ten years, Joe's still quietly amazed by how different she looks when she talks about something she's passionate about. This time it's a new band she discovered earlier this week that brightens her face and gives her a weird electric buzzing aura. Joe thinks of neon signs or Christmas lights, anything that burns bright in the dark the way Dilys seems to light up the dim room around her. She picked up a tan somewhere between touring and the sweltering heatwave days, so that makes her literally glow like the sun, too.

Joe can't stop staring at her. There’s a giddiness inside him of which he can't tell whether it's from the alcohol or if her buzz is just contagious. But either way, he can only barely contain the giggle that's constantly about to spill from his mouth. He laughs at the appropriate parts of what she says, that is, whenever the girls break out in giggles, too. A little, he feels like a teenager all over again, like when he was seventeen and so completely enraptured with this girl who was much cooler and more confident than he was. He thinks that maybe she still is even now, because Joe definitely never quite stopped being enraptured with this bright, loud girl after all those years.

Dilys is talking about a song, her favourite on the album by that band, and she says, “It's like… about four minutes of pure distorted guitar, it's just _noise_ but they made it sound so distinct and built a whole soundscape out of fuzz that isn't just, like, a wall.”

While she talks, she gesticulates, and predictably enough Josh follows every last movement of her hands like she's hypnotised, eyes focussed intently. Joe absently wonders if he's got the same brainwashed expression on his face as he listens.

They're a small group tonight, Joe and Dilys and two of her friends, and then Harry and Issie and Josh and that friend of hers. Josh's a she tonight, so Joe doesn't feel any qualms about mentally referring to their entourage as _the girls_.

Dilys says, “I thought it was great when I saw it live, but I bought the album on vinyl the other day and when it got to that part, I just, you know. It was kind of a spiritual experience.” Because Joe's secret suspicion that she can read minds is probably true after all, she says, “I felt enraptured.”

“ Enraptured,” Joe says. “Good word.”

He remembers that day very well. Dilys made them cocktails to get drunk in the middle of the day, and then they spent several hours lying on the living room floor listening to records. Joe has to admit, that particular song _did_ feel very much like a spiritual experience.

“That's why you love me,” Dilys says back with that grin she has on her face. “'cause I've got good words.”

They've been wandering around town since before sundown, ducking in and out of shops too small to have air conditioning, so her makeup's smudged with sweat and her hair's fallen out of shape, curling at the ends. Still, she's glowing so much that Joe doesn't even hesitate before he wraps one arm around her waist and pecks her lips to make her giggle.

“Yeah, you do,” he says.

She just won't _stop_ giggling, so Joe stops trying to hold it back as well.

“You guys are gross,” Josh says over the rim of her G&T, but she can't keep her voice from slipping when she does, either.

“They're not gross, they're in _love_ ,” one of the other girls insists.

That just makes Joe break out in even more giggles.

“What's so funny?” Dilys asks when she's gotten herself back together, but Joe's still got his head buried in her shoulder in an attempt to fight off the cackles.

“Nothing,” Joe says, finally, when he manages to. “Just thought of something.”

Dilys laughs at him, the fondest laugh she has, probably.

Joe says, “God, I want to marry you.”

It's one of those situations where he only notices what he just said after it's already out, when he only meant to say _I love you_ but something much bigger came out in its place. H e'll happily blame the booze for it, because as soon as it's out he kind of wishes he could take it back.

Not in that sense.

But Dilys and the girls all start giggling when he's said it.

Next thing, she asks, “What?”

Joe says, “No, no, I'm serious. Look.” He reaches for his jacket, where he's got his wallet in his pocket. “I got you this ring, look.”

Joe holds it up between two fingers to show it to Dilys, even if she's using both hands to cover her mouth. Her shoulders are twitching, as if she's – yeah. She's definitely crying. That's the main thing this situation has in common with every scenario Joe imagined when he thought about the right moment to do this. Which is only because she's kind of predictable as far as her emotional reactions go. Joe can feel that all the girls are staring at them now, even Josh. This _really_ isn't the moment he imagined.

From behind both her hands, Dilys chokes out, “Oh my God.”

“Lys, look,” Joe says. He's not sure what to say, other than, _I only said that by accident_ , because that's really not the sort of thing to say in this situation. “Let me ask again.”

Dilys nods, half of her face still hidden by her hands. “Okay,” she muffles out.

“Dilys Eileen Somerset Webb,” Joe starts.

He wants to take his hand and place it on top of hers, but that's not really an option, so he puts it on her knee instead. When he holds up the ring, he watches it sparkle in the small flame from the candle burning on the table for a split second.

“Do you want to marry me?”

Dilys makes a tiny noise into her hands and says, once again, “Oh my God.”

Her hands drop, and she's got the biggest, brightest smile splitting her face almost from ear to ear.

“Oh my God, I thought you'd never ask.”

The next thing, she's wrapping both her arms around Joe's shoulders, leaning in to put all her weight on him. Joe's a little too overwhelmed by the contact before he manages to reach out and hug her back.

“I really did think you'd never get around to asking,” she says, and Joe can still feel where her skin is stained with tears through the thin barrier of his shirt. “I thought I was gonna end up asking you.”

Joe laughs. “I was just, you know,” he says. “Just waiting for the moment to arrive.”

She cackles before she finally pulls back.

“Of course I want to marry you,” she says, then, still giggling and still sniffling out tears, glowing and buzzing and enrapturing.

“Of course you do,” Joe echoes, not sure what else to say. He places the ring in Dilys' hand and asks, “Do you… do you want to put it on right away?”

“Yeah. 'f course I do.”

They laugh at the exact same moment at the repetition. Dilys slides the ring onto her ring finger, although it looks a little bit loose.

“I'm sorry if it doesn't fit,” Joe says. “I got it on the internet, and I wasn't sure what your ring size is, so I just did an estimate.”

“No, look,” Dilys says. She slips the ring onto her middle finger instead, where it fits snugly and just right. “Look, it fits perfectly.”

–

They don't stay at the pub for much longer. That's only half because it's almost closing time anyway, and half because one of them had insisted to, “Let's give those two some time to _celebrate_.”

They're all walking to the nearest bus stop when Issie stops and insists they should take a picture.

Josh asks, “You mean _all of us_ or just Di and Joe?”

“Just Joe and Dilys, if you want? 'cause I want to preserve this.”

They stop in the middle of the pavement so she can take a photo of Joe kissing Dilys' cheek.

“You should hold onto his arm, so you can show off the ring.”

Dilys breaks out into giggles once again, but then, they all do when Harry points out that it's _obvious_ Joe is standing on his toes to look taller in the picture.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> set in early 2017.

The drive back home is quiet, and that's how Dilys prefers it, too. She hates driving, always has, and the fact that no one in London owns a car because no one has to is probably her favourite part about this dirty city. This is a rental car, for obvious reasons, so she can't even have a smoke to take her mind off the road and off the way her bones and muscles lock up behind the steering wheel.

“I want a fag,” Joe eventually says from his spot in the passenger seat.

“Yeah, me too,” Dilys says back without turning her eyes away from the road.

“You should stop at the next services or something. 'cause I'm hungry, too.”

“Come on.” She moves her hand off the stick shift so she can find Joe's and lay it on top of his. “It's only one more hour and a bit.”

It's that time of the year when the days are getting warmer, warm enough that they could both wear shorts just a few days earlier, but it still gets dark too early. Right now, outside is dusky and purple, with London just a starry sky of glittering lights somewhere far in the distance that she can catch a glimpse of ever so often. Dilys would rather have it they return to that cluster of stars before it gets all the way dark.

She doesn't have to turn her head to know Joe is pouting to himself, because at this rate he's never quite going to grow up. The drag of jacket fabric against leather upholstery means he's sliding down in his seat to show how mock-offended he is to no one in particular.

Joe says, “Next time we're viewing a house we're checking if there's a train connection beforehand, okay?”

“Next time,” Dilys says back.

She can't quite hide that tone that says she's not sure whether there'll even be a next time. Although Joe doesn't seem to pick up on it, and if he does, he masks it with the tiny noise of agreement he makes. His fingers tangle with Dilys' on his thigh. The next half hour or so is just driving straight ahead on a country road, so she's not going to pull away immediately. Also, Joe's hand is warm and comforting with all its calluses and bumps.

“D'you mind if I put on BBC 6? It's quiet.”

“Yeah, sure. Just don't turn it up too far.”

It's quiet for a little while, or maybe longer than that. Dilys can't tell when she loses track of time in the stretch of road they drive along, the same scenery of plains and the occasional group of trees repeated over and over again. The glowing cloud of London grows progressively less distant, but then the DJ plays some Arctic Monkeys track from the last album, and that snaps her out of her tunnel vision.

“ Gross, can you turn that off?”

Joe reaches out and turns Alex Turner's obnoxious cocky vocals and his obnoxious cocky guitar all the way down.

“Thanks.”

“You need to take the next exit,” Joe says. “I think.”

Dilys double-checks the GPS on her phone, then the road sign zooming past them. “Yeah.”

They take the exit and start to drive towards the furthest outskirts of north London, and it's quiet again. Dilys sneaks a glance over to Joe after a few minutes, just to ensure that he didn't do that thing where he falls asleep on command. He didn't, though. Instead he's glancing out the window, his brow furrowed deep in thought. Their eyes meet and Dilys clutches the steering wheel a bit tighter in response.

“ E yes on the road, Lys.”

Dilys sticks her tongue out at him, but she turns her eyes back to where they should be either way.

“You looked really pensive,” she says. “Just now.”

“Yeah, I was just… just thinking.” Joe audibly shifts in his seat, and he says, “We’re really serious about this.”

“ About what?”

Joe makes a non-committal noise and then says, “Us. I guess?”

“What d'you mean?”

“Not in a bad way. It just really feels like we're growing up.” He says, once again, “I want a fag.”

Dilys says, “I still don't know what you mean.”

Well, she really doesn't.

“I mean we're going to have a child later this year, and we'll probably get married soon and now we're looking at an actual house to buy and really taking a break from being a band to become _parents_ , so it just… It really feels like we're entering middle age.”

“Well, you know, I'm thirty-four now,” Dilys says, for lack of anything else to say. “I'm literally this close to being a middle-aged woman.”

Maybe she’s made that joke too often by now.

“Yeah, but this is like,” Joe starts and then pauses, presumably to think of an apt comparison. “D'you remember when the news came out that Alex James from Blur was going to live on a farm and sell his own cheese? I feel kind of like that.”

“That's such a midlife crisis thing to do,” Dilys points out. “I'd like to think we're embracing middle age gracefully.”

“Like _The Horrors announce extended hiatus to start a polyamorous commune on a former farm_ doesn't sound like a mid-life crisis headline,” Joe says back.

Okay, the laugh that comes out from Dilys at that statement is definitely more a snort than a proper laugh. She almost lets her eyes accidentally leave the road for a second or so.

“ And like Josh isn't only a single bad decision away from becoming an actual farmer.”

They both laugh this time around, and Dilys focusses on keeping her eyes on the road.

“But still,” Joe says when they've calmed down and he's back to that sober tone of voice he barely ever falls into that makes him sound much smaller than he is. “This is… really big and weird.”

His hand comes to cover Dilys' on the stick shift, not properly holding, just covering, and she lets him.

“Are you okay with it?”

“Yeah,” Joe says. “ I mean, of course I'm okay with it, I just thought. Didn't think all this stuff would happen this soon.”

The way he sounds, it's not just _smallness_ that's conveyed in his voice, it's self-doubt, like he's still the insecure teenager he was at some point long, long ago.

Dilys says, “Kit?”

“Yeah?”

Joe's voice brightens up considerably at the nickname, and out of the corner of her eye, Dilys can see his face soften, too.

“We've been together for how long, now?”

Joe doesn't reply for a few seconds, before he says, “Fuck. It’s thirteen years now, right?”

“A little longer than that,” Dilys confirms. “Yeah.”

“ I don't usually think about how _long_ it's been now.”

“What d'you mean?”

“I mean it doesn't feel like it's been thirteen years. Like, it doesn't feel like we're at that part where we're buying houses and having children.”

Dilys exhales a very non-committal huff. She has to remove her hand from the stick shift to signal and turn a corner, but Joe sounds like he wasn't done talking yet, so she won't interrupt him.

“I mean that not in a bad way, you know?”

“Yeah,” Dilys says back. “I get that.” She echoes, “You know.”

It's quiet for a few split seconds before she remembers what she wanted to say in the first place.

“What I meant when I asked that is,” she starts, “We've been together for so long 'cause we love each other. And we still love each other after thirteen years, which is… you know, that's pretty amazing.”

Okay, maybe she doesn't _truly_ know where she's going with this.

“ Yeah,” Joe says. “I guess.”

He giggles, the one that's not so much an expression of humour as it's a way of relieving the tension within his nerves. Dilys starts to miss his hand on hers.

“I love you, Kit.” She looks out at the London lights around them, people's windows illuminated in the dark. Even when it's probably completely unnecessary to ask, she adds, “You know that, right?”

Just to reassure him. Maybe she does feels like an actual mum when she says it, although that's only a matter of time by this point.

At the next traffic light, the car rolls to a slow stop, and Dilys turns around to face Joe.

At the very same moment, Joe says, “yeah. Of course I know that.”

Dilys sneaks a glance toward the red light, certain it won't turn green on them too soon, and into the rearview mirror to make sure there won’t be a long line of other cars behind them. Finally, she leans in to peck Joe on the lips, just for a short second.

His hand comes to lay itself on top of hers once again.

“Love you too, Lys.”

**Author's Note:**

> this verse has a [tumblr](http://tokencisgenderfriendtomfurse.tumblr.com), by the way!! feel free to drop by to say hello or just to check out some bonus content.


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